


Blood On My Lips, My Heart In Your Hands

by psyduckappears



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur has hanahaki, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, Hugs, Hugs are better than kisses fight me, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), NO DEATH, No Smut, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), how do you tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyduckappears/pseuds/psyduckappears
Summary: One morning, Arthur woke with a cold - or so he had thought. As he quickly found out, the illness that had befallen him was of a much more grave nature. It's name? Hanahaki. The only cure? For the person you love to return your feelings. Easy enough, except that the person Arthur loved was his poor excuse of a manservant (turned closest friend, not that he would have admitted to it), and there was no way on earth Arthur would ever tell him.This plan to die quietly with little to no embarrassment was foiled when Merlin found out about his sickness and proceeded to try and set him up with just about every woman in Camelot to save him.Or: The one where Arthur has Hanahaki (because there's really not enough of that yet) and both him and Merlin are oblivious idiots that share approx. one brain cell
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 485





	Blood On My Lips, My Heart In Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!
> 
> I haven't written fanfic in ages and this is just another piece of evidence on how desperately I do not want to write my term paper. Plus, this fandom is wonderful for angst.
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos and/or comments (I love comments srsly spam me) if you like it! or if you don't, honestly
> 
> Enjoy!

One morning, after Arthur had sat up in his bed upon Merlin’s unceremoniously waking him, he noticed an irritation in the back of his throat. It was minor, a scratching feeling and probably not even the start of a proper cold. He tried to cough past it, but the feeling remained in place.

Merlin returned to the room a couple of minutes later with breakfast, and a smile spread on his lips when he saw Arthur was up. There would have been that familiar feeling, that flutter in Arthur’s stomach that always appeared when he was greeted with this smile, but it was overshadowed by another cough, this one involuntary. Merlin’s smile fell, but only by a fraction.

“Good morning,” he said, placing the food on the table. Arthur rose from the bed to move to the table sluggishly, sleep still heavy in his bones. “Are you feeling alright, sire?”

“Just a sore throat, Merlin,” Arthur waved him off. It was hard to swallow past the pain in his throat, but he didn’t flinch once when he took the first bite out of his breakfast.

“You have a lot to do today. Should I fetch something from Gaius?”

Arthur wanted to say no, but a fit of coughs stopped him, and then Merlin was already out the door. When he came back, he had a vial of something that tasted surprisingly good for Gaius’ work. There was honey in it, surely. Arthur downed it with a nod to Merlin and a rough murmur about Merlin being stupid and worried about nothing, which was as close as he ever got to saying thank you. The smooth fluid soothed his throat for the moment, and by lunch, they had both forgotten about it.

#

The cough held for the next couple of days, even though Arthur kept taking the medicine Merlin brought him, but he didn’t start to worry about it until the third night. Merlin had just left him, and Arthur was lying in his bed to get a good night’s rest, when a coughing fit overtook him. It was worse than the others, and it felt deeper, somehow. There was a rattling pain in his chest as he tried to sit up on his knees and support his weight with his lower arms on the bed. Something was making its way up his throat with every cough and it wanted out. Finally, long after the first specks of blood had stained his pillow, something tumbled out of his mouth, finally clearing his airways.

It was impossible to recognize in the dim moonlight, so he picked it up by its corner and took it nearer to the fireplace, where the last few flames were still licking at the coals. There, in the warm light, he saw what it was that he held between his fingers. Though coated in a thin layer of blood and saliva, it was undeniable. A flower petal.

He felt his heartbeat in his throat. This made no sense. Had he been cursed yet again? Was it just this one petal, or would there be more to come? Without thought, just barely thinking to put on a cloak over his night clothes, Arthur was out the door.

Gaius was quick to wake by the incessant knocking on his door, and when he found the prince standing outside in clothes he would have never even thought about leaving his room in under normal circumstances, every bit of annoyance he had felt at his rousing faded.

“What is going on, my lord?” he asked as he let in the prince. Arthur felt lost in the mess of Gaius’ chambers and wondered if Merlin was responsible for the cleaning chores here, as well. Perhaps, he found himself thinking, he shouldn’t have acted so rashly. This didn’t have to be anything serious; it was most likely nothing that couldn’t have waited until morning, and it was definitely nothing he should have allowed himself to lose his face over. If Merlin woke and found him here, panicking about something so insignificant, he would be smug about it for a week. If his father found him here, panicking about something so unimportant, he would be _disappointed_ and even more judgemental than usual for a month. However, he was already here. And the petal, hidden in his palm, felt like it was searing a hole into his skin.

“As you know,” Arthur began in a most measured tone, “I have been suffering from a cough for a few days.” Gaius looked at him with an eyebrow raised. He hadn’t expected the prince to have come at this hour over a cold, and of course, he had been right in this assessment. “Tonight, after I went to bed, I began coughing quite heavily and, well. This came out of my mouth.”

He flinched at how inelegant, how frankly disgusting it sounded, but Gaius just took a step closer and took the petal from his hand to examine. The blood had dried on it. Arthur watched tensely as Gaius’ face darkened.

“So? Do you know anything about this? Have I been cursed, perhaps?”

Gaius shook his head, still looking at the petal. “No, my lord, I don’t think this is a work of magic.”

“But?”

There was a short silence, hesitance, if Arthur wasn’t hallucinating. Gaius rarely took issue in telling someone a diagnosis, so this had to be something he knew Arthur wasn’t going to like. Again, Gaius had been right.

“There is a disease. It’s very old and very rare.”

“A disease? Of the lung.”

“No,” Gaius said. Gently, he placed the petal on the table and gestured for Arthur to sit while he began to rummage through the books scattered all over the room. “It’s a disease of the heart, rather. It begins with petals, like yours, but soon flowers begin growing in the patient’s lungs, until they suffocate.”

“How is that a disease of the heart?” Arthur demanded, beginning to feel irritated. Gaius wasn’t making any sense; he was only making him more nervous.

“It affects only those who are unhappily in love, my lord,” Gaius said, back still turned. It was a good thing because Arthur was quite sure he must have paled a little.

“In love? Then you must be mistaken.”

Now, Gaius looked at him, and he raised his eyebrow at him in a challenge nobody should give a prince unless they were looking to fight him. It made Arthur feel like a child that had been caught in a rather poorly told lie. “I do not particularly care about whom you give your heart to, sire, and neither is it my business. However, you must confess your feelings to the object of your affections, and they must return them.”

“Or?”

“Or you die,” Gaius said.

“There is no other way?” asked Arthur. The mere idea of telling Merlin, poor, clueless Merlin, about the feelings he had been harbouring for him was beyond horrifying, and from what Gaius had said, it wouldn’t help, either. Because Merlin did not love Arthur.

“I’m afraid not, sire. There have been attempts for certain procedures – however, they were rarely successful. And even if they were, they came with horrific side effects.”

Arthur rose and slid the petal off the table. “Then it seems there is nothing I can do.”

It seemed Gaius had issued believing what he heard, but he schooled his expression skilfully. “Arthur, please be reasonable.”

Arthur gave him his princely smile, the one that would still be stable and regal even after being stabbed in the gut. “Thank you for your help, Gaius. I trust I do not have to remind you not to tell anyone of this?”

“Of course, my lord.”

#

It was difficult to be around Merlin after this. Not only did every stir of emotion further his urge to cough, intensify the irritation in his throat, but the knowledge that this awfully misguided infatuation of his would kill him made him _want_ to resent Merlin to an extent he couldn’t manage. Merlin didn’t seem to notice, at first. Arthur was being the very same amount of condescending and arrogant to him as ever, even if he seemed to snap a little easier these days, and he managed to hide his cough quite well, if he did say so himself.

It was only one morning, when Arthur had overslept after a particularly fitful night, that Merlin began to ask questions. Not entirely unprompted, as he found Arthur sleeping on a pillow scattered with carnations and with dried blood staining his lips and cheek. When he entered the room and caught a first glance at the prince, for a horrifying moment he thought that he had been killed in his sleep. Then, he saw his chest rise and fall, and heard the first rattled breath. It was only little relief to his confusion and worry.

Arthur’s tired mind resisted as it always did when Merlin shook him awake, and he was much too wrapped up in his sleep to notice the way how Merlin had never woken him in this manner before. Only when Merlin’s voice registered in his brain, frantic and worried, did he realise there was something wrong.

“Arthur!” Merlin repeated for the fourth or fifth time now. He had a hand on Arthurs shoulder and the other on his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was warm and nice, and Arthur would really have liked going back to sleep. “Come on, wake up. I think you were cursed. _Shit_ , why aren’t you waking up –“

Arthur’s hand sluggishly pushing him away by the chest put a stop to his rambling as Arthur slowly got up and opened his eyes. “Merlin, you idiot, what is it now?” he grumbled, still mourning the first pleasant dream he had had in a week.

“Sire, I think you’ve been cursed.”

“Really? And what makes you say that?” This boy was going to be the death of him, Arthur thought groggily. He just wasn’t sure if it would be his illness or his frustration that would get to him first.

“Well. Your face is covered in blood and there’s red carnations all over your bed. Or, I think they’re red, but they’re _also_ covered in blood.”

They were carnations then. Great. He didn’t really have a choice but to tell him now, even Merlin would be suspicious about him not freaking out, and he really did not want to start his father on another witch-hunt over this, as nice as it would have been to have somebody to blame for this mess except his own, stupid heart. Thus, Merlin making a fuss and alerting his father had to be avoided.

“This again,” he only mumbled in annoyance. “Fetch some water, will you, I think I’m going to need a bath.”

Merlin looked at him like he had grown a second head. Arthur wished it wasn’t so endearing, if only to spare him from the pressure rising in his chest once more. “Are you not… worried about this?”

“It’s not a curse, Merlin,” he said through a yawn. “It’s an illness.”

“An illness? Then let me get Gaius.”

“I already went to see him.”

Merlin looked heartbreakingly relieved. “Then you’ll be okay.”

“No. I’m not, and you are not going to talk about this with _anyone_. Understand? Now go. Water.”

Merlin was about to protest, but Arthur sent him a look that was less of a threat than he would have liked to tell himself. He opened his mouth a few more times, but Arthur shut him down as often as it took for Merlin to give another hesitant look and comply. When he was finally gone, Arthur fell back onto his back and let out a sigh. Of course, this illness would have to befall him out of all people. Was he really the only person in Camelot who was stupid enough to fall in love with someone they couldn’t have?

Another cough rocked his torso, and he groaned as he turned to his side.

#

Merlin attempted to approach the topic a couple more times the days after, to get some more detail on this mysterious ailment that had befallen the prince, but to no avail. Arthur was a master at evading topics he didn’t wish to speak about, and while he was more than inclined to let Merlin babble on throughout the day, the glares he sent Merlin whenever he brought it up were obviously impressive enough.

However, Gaius was an old man and while he usually had Merlin pretty well under his control, it appeared even he couldn’t resist Merlin’s incessant begging forever. It might have had something to do with him not wanting to leave the prince to die of his own stubbornness. Either way, almost a week after Merlin had learned about the fact of Arthur’s illness, he barged into the room with a tray of lunch and a disbelieving glare.

“You have _Hanahaki_?” Merlin demanded as he carelessly dropped the tray onto the table. A sole bit of vegetable jumped off the plate at the impact, and Arthur almost jumped out of his own skin at being interrupted in his thoughts. He had been sitting over an unwritten letter to his father that he hoped to leave behind when he died, but he had trouble coming up with the right words. He wasn’t even entirely sure what exactly it was that he wanted his father to know. Maybe he should make up a lie about some beautiful foreign princess he had fallen hopelessly in love with, just to spare them all some embarrassment, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Merlin’s question had been rhetorical, so Arthur merely shrugged and put away the letter. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Must I remind you that I am your prince and do not have to tell you anything?”

“You’re my friend,” Merlin argued, desperately. Arthur had never known somebody so unable to truly hold on to anger. “I could have _helped_ you.”

He huffed out a mocking breath. Ironically enough, Merlin was the _only_ person that could have helped him, not that he would ever tell him that. He’d rather die than see the look on his face. “I didn’t know you were such an expert.”

“Why are you so intent to die an unnecessary death?”

“I don’t expect you to understand.” He began picking at his food, but he didn’t feel very hungry. Merlin was about to say something more, but Arthur sent him another warning glare. “ _Mer_ lin.”

“I can’t believe I save your royal arse over and over just for you to die of your own stupidity,” he muttered under his breath. Arthur heard him, and he wanted to inquire, but he was scared to find something he didn’t want to know. Besides, at least this put an end to the discussion. Or, well, so he had foolishly allowed himself to believe.

Merlin proceeded, in the days following this confrontation, to try and push together Arthur with just about any woman in Camelot he had ever talked to before in the hopes of finding out who it was Arthur had set his eye on and then begging her for her help. However, Arthur had little interest in any of them, and the fact that he knew exactly what Merlin was doing wasn’t doing anything to lift his mood. _One couldn’t even die in peace with this idiot._

“Do you really think you’re being subtle with this, Merlin?” he asked one afternoon when he came out of a meeting and Merlin told him he had prepared the horses to ride out with the Lady Sophia – Arthur didn’t even remember exactly who she was.

“No, sire,” Merlin retorted, perfectly chipper.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a little bit improper for the prince of Camelot to meet with several different women each day?” he hissed when Merlin all but dragged him outside. The boy really gave nothing for standing, did he? Much to Arthur’s dismay, Merlin’s infuriating smile, his apparent urge to save his life despite his own reluctance to survive, and the touch of his hand to his wrist just made his stomach flutter, and not in anger like it should have. It also made a cough stir in his throat that he would rather not have to live through, so he ripped his hand away and stayed standing just before the great doors leading into the open.

“Maybe, but a dent to your _perfect image_ surely is preferrable to a painful death, _sire_.”

“May I remind you that I have not once asked you for your help in this matter?”

“I perfectly remember your insistence to die an unwarranted death. Not very heroic of you, is it, leaving the kingdom without an heir to its throne.”

The anger began to rise, as did his cough. He had to control his breathing to not let out the wrong one. “It is not your business to judge me or my decisions.” He could barely breathe through the struggle to keep down the coughs, and with them, the flowers. _Not here_ , he pleaded. “Tell Sophia I am sorry to disappoint, but I cannot go with her.” With that, he was off in the opposite direction, leaving Merlin to look after him helplessly.

It didn’t take long for Merlin to arrive in Arthur’s chambers after, and he let out a heavy sigh when he found the prince on his knees, struggling to cough up the very end of a complete carnation. His arms, which he leaned on for support, were trembling like they were about to give out and Merlin was there in time to hold him up by the shoulder. His second hand landed on Arthur’s back, and he thoughtlessly ran it along his spine in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“Sire,” he said, hesitantly. Arthur couldn’t speak now, so it was probably his only chance at getting him to listen. “This is madness. You can’t let your pride kill you.” Arthur coughed again, and again, and every time tore at Merlin’s heart a little. He was sure that if Arthur were to die now, he would die too, like there was no possible way he could continue to exist if Arthur didn’t. Hours bent over magic books hadn’t done anything. No spell would save them this time. “Please. You don’t have to tell me who it is, but you have to tell _her_.”

Finally, the flower fell from Arthur’s mouth, bloody and perversely beautiful. When Arthur didn’t respond, Merlin took the blasted thing and threw it into the flames. Just as his hand went to open the door, just as he was about to leave, Arthur’s wrecked voice stopped him.

“Merlin,” he said, and he sounded as though he had spent a day and a night screaming. There was a pain in the word that was beyond physical and it froze Merlin in place. Gods, he never wanted to hear Arthur sound like that again. Soon, he thought bitterly, he wouldn’t have to. “It doesn’t matter if I tell them if I know they do not love me.”

“How would you know?” Merlin asked, long past hiding his frustrations. Arthur was slowly picking himself up from the floor and it was all Merlin could do to not run and help him.

“I just do.”

“Well, you _have_ to at least try!”

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” Merlin all but yelled. If Arthur was going to die anyways, what did it matter if he knew. If he knew everything. “And because you can’t die. I can’t _let_ you die. Because the future of this kingdom and everyone who lives in it depends on you and on the fact that one day you will be king and make right all the awful things your father has done to them. Because it’s your destiny to bring us all into a new, better era and because it’s my destiny to protect you so you can do just that, and by the gods I did _not_ ask for that! But it is! And because if you’re dead I have absolutely no purpose in this stupid, empty world. Because I was born with magic and I was born to use it to protect you, which you make absolutely impossible sometimes, and because _I love you_.”

Arthur stared at him. They were still standing on opposite ends of the room, and the air between them was near ripping from tension. Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, and every other day Merlin would have made fun of him for it. He was about to turn and leave after all, wait out maybe until Arthur would send him to court for everything he had just said, when Arthur finally remembered how to speak. “You said that twice,” he said. Maybe he didn’t remember how to speak, then, because he was making no sense.

“What?”

“That you loved me. You said that twice.”

Merlin huffed a breath that sounded like annoyance, but he was this close to tears. “Well. Nice that that’s all you got from that.”

“Is it true?” Arthur asked. He was slowly coming closer and Merlin was getting more and more anxious to leave, but Arthur’s glance kept him stuck in place. His fight-or-flight instinct was, apparently, useless, because he was only frozen.

“What?”

“All of it.”

Merlin nodded, slowly. “Are you going to…?”

“What? Execute you?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Arthur said. He was right in front of him now, rigid muscles, face blank, and it was terrifying.

“Then what are you –“

“I’d like to hug you.” Merlin had to turn that over twice in his head before he understood what had been said, and when all he gave in response was a dumbfounded expression, Arthur pulled him in by the shoulder and did just that. It was warm, and soft, and Arthur relished in the way his face fit into Merlin’s neck like it was meant to go there. The tension bled from his shoulders and the pain from his chest. Merlin took a moment to wrap his arms around Arthur in return, still confused with where this all had landed him.

“Not that I don’t like this,” Merlin said quietly after a while. Confusion and fear were still layered thick over his voice. “But what exactly are you doing? Does this mean you’re not angry? Does this mean you’ll try and tell her –“

“Merlin,” Arthur said, drawing back slightly to look at the other. To Merlin’s utmost surprise, his eyes were glassy with tears that contradicted the smile on his lips. “You really are an idiot.”

“And you’re a prat. What’s your point?”

“That I’m standing here without the slightest scratch in my throat.”

It took another moment until Merlin began to catch on. His eyes widened a fraction, then they searched Arthur’s for confirmation. “You mean-?”

“You’re lucky I love you, or you’d be long out of a job with how awfully oblivious you are.”

Merlin snorted at that, and it only made Arthur’s smile grow. “You’re the one who was ready to die because you thought I didn’t love you, so I’m not sure you should be talking.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t remember the last time the gesture hadn’t been more affectionate than anything else. Then, he pulled Merlin closer once more to catch his lips with his own.


End file.
